


Radioactive

by Chromi



Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [3]
Category: One Piece
Genre: ...a little, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Canon Universe, Come Swallowing, Come as Lube, Consensual Somnophilia, Declarations Of Love, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Idiots in Love, Kinktober 2020, M/M, Narcolepsy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Safe Sane and Consensual, Somnophilia, bottom!ace, for narrative purposes, it switches from heavy prose to... not heavy prose quite abruptly, top!deuce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26876524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chromi/pseuds/Chromi
Summary: Ace falls asleep during sex. Deuce keeps on truckin'.Day 3: somnophilia
Relationships: Masked Deuce/Portgas D. Ace
Series: Chromi's Kinktober 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948690
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	Radioactive

**Author's Note:**

> As with all somnophilia, consent is a delicate subject. No one can consent at the point of sleep or during sleep, but it is clear in the fic that consent was given before and after the event.
> 
> This fill got away from me again lmao - I'm going to do my best to keep future fills under or around 2k. I'm also aware that the quality isn't up to standard for the Kinktober fills, but its not about quality, its about Lots of Dick :)))
> 
> I got told off for writing ~soft~ somnophilia so one day I'll make it up to my Bog Friends and will write nasty somno. Pwomise ♥

Learning Ace had been Deuce's favorite past-time since his moment of collapse under the weight of his care on Sixis. His book, originally meant for grand tales and inescapably compelling plots, was now stuffed cover to cover with love for his captain (always his captain, regardless of crew, of formal rank). An adventure or two did indeed feature among the trailing lines of prose and occasional sprinkle of poetry, although their impact paled somewhat in light of Deuce's diverted thoughts that hung around red-beaded necklaces and sun-kissed freckled cheeks.

Love suited Deuce as much as it did Ace, and in his less than humble opinion, that, coupled with his proficiency in his self-confessed best subject, made Deuce a better writer all round.

(Not a sentiment shared with most of the crew – but who were they to judge what they could never truly understand? If anything, Deuce pitied their snide jokes, seeing past their cackled mirth to witness the envy each one of them carried like a fungus in their hearts.

They could never truly understand his devotion; they weren't invited to attempt to do so, either.)

Yet tonight that notebook lay forgotten, relegated to functioning as a mere stand for a slow-burning candle to balance upon. Rather than pouring out words of poorly-concealed adoration through flowing ink to smooth cream pages, Deuce laid his blatant love direct to the coveted source of his most delightful heartache.

(Like fingers pressed into a purple bruise, it hurt in a wondrously addictive way. He had it; he held it; he sipped liquid dedication from its chalice – and it burned within him by consequence, filling him with pain so pleasurable that he would willingly give his life for but a scant second more of it.)

Tonight, his world was filled with gentle gasps and sighs drawn from the lungs of his beloved, breathed in and taken to become a part of himself; with the touch of too-warm skin to nerves that begged to be scorched to embers _(to be reborn for **him** )_. A world where Ace kissed him with passion and pulled him in with a hunger that demanded all that he could offer.

(He could offer his soul – he could offer his mind, sanity, agency, hell, his _life_ , should Ace wish...

... should Ace ever come to ask of such a thing, yet finding it gifted to him regardless.)

Tonight, Deuce willingly lost himself to that heat. Embraced it. Lifted hips to hips atop pillows, delving between saliva-slicked lips to whimper affections that couldn't be given verbal form. Language was lost; time stopped; all that existed was Ace against him, around him, damp with the sweat of a long, endless session that neither could bring themselves to end. The kind that found Deuce edging them over and over and _over_ on Ace's instruction _,_ his tears of frustration wetting Ace's hair and cheeks, all high-pitched sighs and moans caught like butterflies in a spider's web to be devoured greedily by their captor.

Boneless yet taut with the promise of impending orgasm – yet _again_ , forcing himself to ease into it rather than entice disappointment in the event of Ace demanding he hold off for a sixth time – Deuce tucked his face into the curve of Ace's neck, struggling for breath. The tight fist around his lungs and heart squeezed relentlessly, love pouring from him in the form of tears through a gasped moan in response to Ace's nails dragging lines down his spine.

Breathless words of love – declarations of _forever_ and _always_ – mouthed to freckles and ear lobe, kissed into hairline and laved to prominent cheekbone. Sonnets and prose always did pour like liquid from between Deuce's teeth the closer he got, the more hurried his hips slapped to Ace's – and Ace responded so _beautifully_ , all fingers and palms scrabbling at Deuce's shoulders to hold him close (like he had any inclination of leaving him, ever), to sincerely sob his love for Deuce against his lips in a deep, firm kiss that couldn't compare—

—the kiss that permitted this to be the last moment: that breathtakingly fantastic moment where they stood balanced at the point of no return, held tight in each other's embrace and prepared to fall.

“I love you,” Deuce moaned to Ace's ear, trusting him to keep himself anchored in place through ankles locked to lumbar spine. Fingers cascaded through thick black hair on Deuce cradling Ace's head, tilting him into position to cry his pleasure to the ceiling. “Ace, _Ace_ , I l-love you so much—”

“ _Deuce_ ,” Ace's voice shook with need, filling the air with heat that couldn't hurt, slaking a lust so deeply entwined with Deuce's very soul that he felt it pulling at his gut, demanding his unwavering worship. “I'm so—nearly—” Ace gasped, cock pulsing wet with more precum between them on its soaked slide, fingers raking over Deuce's shoulders, his neck, his scalp, “D-Deu, I love you too—”

His voice wavered then, faltering, and Deuce assumed it to be lost to his impending climax. He himself was fairing no better, finesse well and truly gone, rhythm abandoned, clinging to Ace for dear life and pressing sloppy, shapeless kisses to every inch of him he could touch. Always the same; always gone at the final moment, left to drown helpless in his own tears wrung from a heart that beat only for Ace.

“I love...” Ah, he definitely sounded fainter now, but Deuce was so close he could _taste_ it, that tantalizingly sweet edge of the most delicious sensation he had ever, _could ever_ experience.

But then Ace's grip around his shoulders was slackening, his arms dropping like dead weights back to the pillow, startling Deuce.

Yet the surprises didn't end there. Not only did Ace let go at the crucial point – the point where usually, on the occasions when Deuce was asked so sweetly to top, pulled into position by fevered hands snatching his clothes off his body, a hungry mouth closing to jugular, typically – but his entire body drooped slack, all the pent up fire and desperation that should have been ( _had_ been) screaming through his blood seeming to just... dissipate.

“A-Ace?”

His pre-orgasm haze vanished instantly, shutting down the heady stream of adoring prose for his partner with brakes that squealed in protest, demanding to know _why_ he was withholding his promised release yet _again_. But something was wrong; he could feel it. Every muscle in Ace's body had relaxed to the point where even his knees – previously gripping Deuce's waist to help aid the rock into his slick body – dropped, legs falling uselessly open and threatening to dislodge Deuce as his hips automatically shifted.

“What's wrong?” Deuce asked breathlessly, and when he didn't get an answer, he was forced to stop completely, ragged breaths coming short and sharp, thighs quivering. “Ace? What's happened?”

It almost felt like – and perish the thought if something this humiliating ever happened – Ace had fallen asleep. But that couldn't be. Could it? Deuce swallowed, rising up on shaking arms to get a look at Ace's face, having no idea what he was going to find there. He wasn't _that_ bad as a top, was he? All right, no, he didn't wield that commanding edge that Ace did, all lithe confidence and heated assurance in his role, but... Ace wouldn't ask for him to top if he didn't enjoy it, would he?

But of course, Deuce remembered on brushing Ace's thick hair off his forehead, gauging his temperature at the same time (already adapted; already used to how Ace naturally ran a couple degrees hotter and making room for that allowance, as always), there was something else about Ace that could factor in on embarrassing and impromptu naps.

And that, it seemed, on staring down at Ace's peacefully slumbering expression bathed only in candlelight and the sparkle of sweat, was precisely what had hit him on the brink of the most earth-shattering orgasm either of them had had in who-knew how long.

Ace's narcolepsy.

Deuce's forehead slammed into Ace's collarbone with enough force to bruise them both, deflating against him with record speed. His poetic love vanished in an instant, replaced instead with something similar to anger, yet not quite as livid red as that. Maybe more along the lines of violently pink, swelling with rage that tipped into embarrassment, a smoky hint of hilarity twisted in there somewhere... _very_ far down.

“Are you kidding me?” Deuce groaned flatly into Ace's skin, not bothering to care about how his entire weight rested atop his boyfriend like this. “Are you fucking kidding me? Your trigger's _food_ – what were you doing? Thinking about steak or something?”

How insulting. How utterly and incomprehensively humiliating to have lost out to the mere thought of a fat, juicy steak. Deuce wanted to cry – and given that he already had been (although admittedly with an emotion far more pleasurable than that aggressive shade of pink that now swelled into dark, blistering red), he succumbed with frightening ease to frustration and blank shock both.

“Why,” Deuce sighed long, hard, rough, “were you thinking about _food_ as you were about to come?”

He didn't deserve this. At no point in their relationship had Deuce done anything to warrant losing his standing to the thought of a meal. Oh, the sheer audacity of it! He had half a mind to bite Ace awake for this, taking a mean sort of pleasure in his yelp of pain.

(Because he could be cruel, even when it came to Ace. For every gentle, soft, and tender thought and feeling that flitted through Deuce's heart on seeing his adored partner, there also accompanied exasperation that never seemed likely to relinquish its hold on him.

Ace was a challenge, but a challenge that Deuce loved with everything he was.)

But it was on grudgingly resigning to pull out and jerk off into a tissue like a sad sack of pent up testosterone that Deuce's mind was changed for him. The slick, heavenly sensation of his too-sensitive dick sliding against Ace's walls – of his cockhead slipping from the grip of Ace's body – sent a pronounced shiver racing up his spine, blossoming into a barely contained groan. Deuce faltered, clasping Ace's hip in one hand, his throbbing, almost painfully hard cock in the other, breathing suddenly something that became difficult again.

His gaze travelled from Ace's sleeping face – slack, blissfully peaceful, and almost on the verge of being endearing, had the circumstances been anything other than what they were – down over his abdomen, muscles thrown into sharp relief by the flickering candlelight... over jutting hipbones that Deuce knew by touch, sensual in their dip and curve to groin... Down further Deuce looked, coming to rest at Ace's still-hard cock. Thick and red, straining up in apparently urgent need, the head shiny with precum, the shaft slicked by their combined sweat from where it had been pinned between them. On pressing a forefinger into the wet slit, Deuce snorted as it twitched, Ace's body apparently still eager regardless of how his mind had abandoned it entirely.

“You,” Deuce sighed, replacing fingertip with thumb to smear the pearl of precum into the soft skin, “are ridiculous. Did you know that?”

In all likelihood, Ace would agree with him, if he could.

And if he wanted to stop and consider what Ace was likely to do, it would probably include demanding that they continue.

Deuce froze at this thought, the deliciously intrusive image of Ace spread underneath him, body relaxed and swallowing his cock with no resistance, no nothing at all, taking over all coherent thought. His fingers glided over, taking his time to appreciate the contours of Ace's body as his mind worked frantically, body trembling with unaddressed need.

The problem of consent arose right as Deuce's thumb met the lube-wet rim of Ace's entrance, tracing over the skin to draw out another twitch of Ace's cock above it. Swallowing hard and having no idea what to do next, Deuce's attention was trapped within the confines of moral ambiguity. Consent had been given – and extremely enthusiastically at that – when first he had been pulled down onto the bed, Ace coating Deuce’s fingers in lube and meeting him with moaned lust pressed to lips. But that consent didn't extend to when Ace was unconscious.

... Or did it? Deuce's heart pounded with audible ferocity in his ears, breath shuddering from lungs that twisted tight at the mere thought. They had, some time ago, talked about this. In passing, granted, and as a joke more than anything with real sincerity, but Ace _had_ given permission that fitted into this scenario.

 _If, for any reason, it ever happens in the middle of sex_ , Ace had laughed over dinner one night, waking after having been hauled snoring out of his stew, _feel free to keep goin', Deu. Doesn't matter who's fucking who; don't feel like you have to blue-ball yourself because of me._

Deuce had hurriedly hissed for him to quieten down, keenly aware of Haruta's inquisitive stare burning into their backs.

 _Seriously?_ He'd asked, leaning in a little closer to be heard over the din that the Whitebeard crew were making around them. _You'd really want me to keep going?_

 _Why wouldn't I?_ Ace had countered, grinning. _I think it'd be kinda hot, even. Don't you?_

He hadn't. In all honesty, the thought of using Ace's body while he slept wasn't something that had sparked interest. It removed the best bits of sex, as far as Deuce was concerned, reducing Ace down to little more than a toy to be pulled around for a joyless fuck. The closeness; the unfiltered bliss that came from having Ace touch him, moan the name that he himself had bestowed onto Deuce, and respond wholly to worshiping touches and lips brushing adoration to his skin... _those_ were what Deuce liked best about sex. Getting off was easy, a physiological process driven by hormones... but making love was special.

—Was what he had thought. Was what he had settled on at that moment, flashing Ace a benign, placating smile and swiftly forgetting about the conversation in light of the food fight that had then erupted in the mess hall.

But now, faced with it as a very real, present, and offered chance, Deuce couldn't deny that he was curious.

It was with a deep, rumbling groan that he guided himself back inside Ace's almost overwhelming heat, sliding with ease back in to the hilt. As expected, he met with no resistance whatsoever, Ace's body opening with soft, inviting ease and welcoming him back in. Shaking with that tantalizing promise of orgasm far too quickly just by being seated back inside, Deuce adjusted Ace's relaxed hips to angle upwards a little more, tilting him and fumbling with the pillows underneath to better prop him in place.

Wouldn't it be interesting, Deuce thought through the swirling haze of the urge to simply tuck his face into Ace's neck and fuck with abandon, if he could bring Ace to orgasm in his sleep?

“Sorry, Ace,” Deuce breathed tremulously, settling into a shallow rhythm and holding Ace’s legs open by the pits of his knees, “please don't be mad at me for this.”

It was... surreal. There was Ace, still handsome, still intensely captivating in all his muscular glory under the soft candlelight – yet nothing that made this experience so _personal_ was present. None of the breathy moans were there; gone were Ace's hands roaming Deuce's skin, lording his claim over him that was so gratefully given in full, telling Deuce through fire and burning gasps that he was loved back beyond measure.

It was gone, reduced down to the most basic of simple physical sensations.

And _yet –_ Deuce shuddered, eyes raking over Ace’s body, his face – there was something about this that still made Deuce’s nerves scream with pleasure.

Something deeper – more possessive than he liked to spare attention for – and still ill-defined.

He didn’t want to try to address the flash of greed whose identity registered all too easily.

Not now.

Ace's knees touched to his shoulders as Deuce bent him back almost in half, nosing into his throat and inhaling deep. _Ah_ , there was Ace's unique scent, something that drove Deuce crazy even under regular circumstances. Intoxicating, he was, and Deuce breathed him in like fresh air through smoke, relishing in what it provoked.

A kiss to Ace's neck; the steady climb back up to his peak, rolling his hips against Ace's with such ease it was a little startling, almost – and he was back again in the headspace he had been forced out of, driving every shred of moral dilemma straight out into stuttered breaths and impending finish. So what if it was strange, not having Ace touch him back. So what if the absence of Ace's loving praise was almost painful. Deuce would just have to make up for his silence – lay reverent adoration twice as thick.

Fevered kisses rained to Ace's collarbone and neck as Deuce's tempo settled into something fast and desperate, having no desire to draw this out for any longer than was strictly necessary. He moaned, high and breathy, sinking deeper into the threat of oversensitivity, barely able to keep the tremors out of his movements. A glance up at Ace's face told him he was still soundly asleep, yet his brows were pulled down into a frown as if he couldn't figure out what was happening to him.

The thought had Deuce snickering despite himself, pressing a kiss to a freckled cheek. “Even like this, you feel incredible,” Deuce confided to his unconscious partner, barely even pulling out with each thrust as deep as he could manage, rutting forward in superficial little twitches rather than full-bodied canting of hips to hips. “You're so hot, Ace,” Deuce sighed, the absurdity of his one-sided conversation not lost to him as he dipped back to nose into Ace's hair, “so hot and wet inside... feels so good...”

A soft moan slipped from Ace, causing Deuce to rear back enough to check him through the building cloud of oblivion. No, he was still asleep, though his cheeks were pink again, contrasting with his freckles.

“Still wish you'd wake up, though,” Deuce panted, settling down to mouth and nip kisses to Ace's throat, brow furrowing deep in concentration. “Wish you'd—you'd— _ah_ —kiss me back. Pull my hair. T-Tell me how good you're feeling.”

He could imagine it, though, even if he couldn't experience it in this moment. Even if Ace was slack under him right now, Deuce could conjure up the memory of him on the brink, fingers spun into hair and body shaking with imminent release. Ace's voice sobbing the most filthy, urgent longing filled his mind even if it didn't saturate the air around them, and that, in Deuce's state of fevered, heedless need, was all he required.

With a bite to Ace's shoulder that he would surely have to apologize profusely for later, Deuce came at long last, eyes rolling back with a bone-deep groan of satisfaction. Every muscle ached with the intensity of it, mind flooded with blissful black and nothing sensible coming to him for several long, drawn-out seconds. And this time, Ace couldn't even complain when Deuce came to a complete stop, letting his weight drop fully from arms that shook too violently to be of any use in holding him aloft anyway.

After catching his breath – during which Deuce muttered praise and love that rained unnoticed to his sleeping partner, peppering kisses that couldn't be reciprocated, as he knew would have normally been – it took monumental effort to convince himself to sit upright onto his knees, fingers splaying to the inside of Ace's thigh, to his knee, in order to steady himself.

Pulling out as gently as he could and sighing yet more praise for no one's benefit but his own conscience's, Deuce's attention was caught by Ace's cock, still thick and tight, still flushed red from root to tip and soaked with precum.

Well, that certainly needed to be fixed.

Yet Ace still didn't show any indication of being close to waking up, Deuce noted as he pondered what to do. In his particular case and with his particular problem, simply shaking Ace awake wasn't something that was feasible – as demonstrated beautifully by folding him at the waist and fucking him through to Deuce's end.

“What do I do with you?” Deuce murmured, fingers trailing wide curves over Ace's hips, his thighs. “Wait for you to wake up? Or...”

The sight of his own cum leaking from Ace's pink-rimmed hole answered that question for him, though. Moving without any definable thought and certainly without the faintest intention of settling on a plan first, the cum was scooped up and fingered back inside, plugging it up. Ace's prostate was found with learned ease and pressed against gently, a idea beginning to take form while Deuce watched, breathless, as Ace arched into the touch in his sleep.

“Can you feel that?” Deuce asked quietly, stroking over that bundle of sensitive nerves behind Ace's front wall, the slide effortless through the cum, the lube, the previous stretch of his cock. “Does that feel good for you, Ace?”

It seemed that that was the case, at least. Keeping his hand in place and working his fingers alone to Ace's prostate in gentle, rhythmic strokes inside, Ace's breathing grew more labored. Precum dripped from his cock to pool at his abdomen, this time remaining there rather than ending up smeared over them. With a second bolt of inspiration accompanying the ache of arousal flickering back into life in Deuce's blood, he dipped down to lick at the precum, lips drawing shut to suck a kiss to the warm skin for good measure. Ace's response was enough to get him to do it again, to follow the line of his cock from base to tip and swallow him down to the back of his throat, a groan vibrating through him and shivering into Ace.

It was good – it was familiar and _right_ , stroking those nerves into swollen sensitivity; almost choking on the head sliding effortlessly down his throat already so aptly trained to take it. Even Ace's responses were almost normal, though devoid of hair pulling and hips rising to enthusiastically meet Deuce's lips, and, right as Ace's breathy moans pitched up to that tellingly urgent frequency, Deuce's stroking pace inside picked up with intention, pulling up to the head of his cock to focus attention there.

Ace was going to come in his sleep, and Deuce would have been lying to say he wasn't a little proud of that.

But then shock seized him in its many-fingered grasp, physically threading into his hair to twist and pull so like Ace would do when conscious— and Deuce almost gagged as he was tugged back down to swallow Ace's whole length, though not before just catching a glimpse of his partner's gray eyes flashing with hunger above him.

Panic flooded him. Pure, thrilling panic.

He'd been caught. Caught and found essentially assaulting Ace, and— hell, what had he been thinking? How had he convinced himself that this was appropriate? Of course Ace hadn't been serious that night about fucking him in his sleep – thinking back, the subject of fingering and blowing him to completion hadn't factored in at all, hadn't been mentioned in any capacity, and Deuce had just acted without thinking, had selfishly decided to inflict this onto his beloved without explicit consent—

“ _Don't_ ,” Ace growled, full of rage, as he rightfully should be—

—He was so going to be single after this. Maybe even dismissed from the crew. All because he couldn't keep his fucking stupid hands and mouth to himself—

“—even _think_ about stopping.”

Deuce's sound of utter confusion was lost under Ace's harsh, raw groan as he came with a snap of his hips up into Deuce's throat. Given no choice but to take it _(a choice he didn't need, wouldn't need, would forever be grateful to have made for him if this was the consistent result)_ , Deuce worked to keep his throat open and avoid choking on Ace's cum, swallowing around him. He made absolute sure to milk Ace's prostate through to the end when his now-straining hips relaxed back down against the pillows, the bite of pain in Deuce's scalp softening to be replaced by appreciative touches carding through pale hair.

His face was seized the moment he released Ace's cock with a deep, tremulous gasp. Guided up and over where Ace had propped himself up on an elbow, Deuce found himself yanked into a breathless, searching kiss before he could even apologize. Tongue slid to tongue, given no chance to fight against Ace's determination as he moaned something deep and guttural.

“Ace, I’m so sorry,” Deuce said hurriedly the moment the kiss broke, cupping Ace’s face, “are you okay?”

“No, _I'm_ so sorry I fell asleep,” Ace interrupted, looking horrified, “Deu, baby, I'm so, _so_ sorry, that must have been really weird for you, huh? It sure was weird for _me_ , in any case.”

“What happened?” Deuce asked, needing to know for sure before he launched back into his own hasty apologies – not that Ace seemed like he would accept them, given how he had just reacted to waking to Deuce's lack of self-control, but... “Please don't tell me you thought about food,” Deuce practically begged, torn between the hilarity of the possibility and the total insult.

Ace's sheepish grin was enough to confirm that his initial suspicions where correct.

“You did,” Deuce said tonelessly, fixing Ace with flat disappointment. “You actually thought about your dinner during—”

“I didn't mean to! And it was only for a moment!” Ace huffed, though he still looked rather embarrassed by this. “I didn’t know it’d affect me like that! But it worked out okay, didn't it? We still had a good time.”

It had been an experience, that was for sure, although Deuce wasn't convinced it was one he would want to repeat in a hurry. Having Ace fully conscious and laving love and kisses all over was certainly far more preferable.

“And you're more than welcome to do whatever you like to me if I ever do that again,” Ace said with a smile, guiding Deuce in for another kiss. “And I give you express retrospective permission for whatever you chose to do while I was unconscious, too. So,” he poked a forefinger into the center of Deuce's concerned frown, earning a grunt of protest, “calm down and stop worrying, ‘cause I _know_ that’s what’s got you pulling that face. Okay? Everything’s all good.”

“Retroactive, you mean,” Deuce mumbled, unable to help himself, embarrassment diverting his gaze to Ace’s shoulder.

“ _Radioactive_ ,” Ace offered seriously, making Deuce snort loudly, his worries slipping away a little.

“Radioactive consent, then,” he agreed, pressing a fond smile to Ace's lips when his partner leaned in expectantly. “Thank you, Ace.”

**Author's Note:**

> If there's anything in particular you'd like to see, feel free to send me a message on either [Tumblr](https://chromiwrites.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Chromiwrites)! I'm open to requests! Please bear in mind that at this time, I would only like to write about AceDeuce (or DeuceAce), or maybe MarcoDeuce if the kink fits ;)


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